


False Accusations and Fateful Actualisations

by ScriptrixDraconum



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Prison, Falling In Love, First Meetings, Fluid Sexuality, M/M, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 07:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2574020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScriptrixDraconum/pseuds/ScriptrixDraconum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote this as an AU prompt on Tumblr and I loved it so I'm posting it here.</p><p>Prompt: For the ficlet meme how about bird and marc in 37 (meeting in prison).</p><p>(Marcurio is an NPC from the Skyrim game and Bird is a male OC of mine from my Hero Series. In the series they have been in a relationship for a decade but did not meet in prison nor have they ever been in prison.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	False Accusations and Fateful Actualisations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [my anonymous prompter](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=my+anonymous+prompter).



  
Art by LadyZolstice. 

 

Bird glared at the far corner of the adjacent prison cell, at the bronzed man who sat with his knees tucked against his chest. He appeared to be dressed in a robe, likely that of a mage, but it was so tattered and dirty that Bird couldn’t tell for certain. The man, who looked like an Imperial, looked both frightened and angry, a strange combination.

The man had refused food from the guards - again - which was beginning to get on Bird’s nerves. Ever since his 12th winter, when his family nearly starved, Bird never, ever refused food. He cleaned his plates dry and rarely took second helpings. His mother claimed that was why he was so thin. Even the stale bread and slop the guards claimed to be porridge was a good meal in Bird’s eyes, because it was better than boiled grass water. 

Half-finished his meal, Bird stood from his rotted wooden stool and walked over to their shared cell bars. Bread in hand, Bird slid both arms through the spaces between iron until his upper arms rested on a conveniently-placed horizontal bar. 

"You’re not doing yourself any favors by fasting," Bird said, letting his bread-laden hand dangle freely from the elbow down. 

The Imperial looked up at Bird, lips puckered in something akin to disgust, and then looked away without a word.

"Man, look," Bird started, "I know you’re not mute or deaf. I heard you yelling something about a Dunmer and a Daedric Prince. I’m assuming that’s why you’re in here. Blamed for something you didn’t do?" Bird watched for any signs from the man’s body language, but received none. "That’s why I’m here," he continued unprompted. "Someone’s been kidnapping women from town and they found a necklace that belonged to one of them in my bedroom. So, they think I’m the kidnapper. I’m not…," he laughed, a bit nervously, and added, "I just had her the one night…."

"Will… you…  _please_ …. Just… shut up. Please….”

Bird was taken aback by the Imperial’s homicidal tone, but quickly recovered. Raising the bread up to his own eye level, he rotated his wrist back and forth a few times, saying, “I’ll shut up when you eat.”

The man let his legs drop to the floor with a thud before he stood and stomped his way over to the shared cell bars. He snatched the stale lump of bread from Bird’s hand and immediately crushed it with his strong fist. After a moment of being stunned by the blatant disregard for the proffered food, Bird noticed how compact the man’s body was. Even the dirty mage robe didn’t hide contours of muscles and the hint of a waist. Compared to Bird’s arrow-straight figure, the man before him was practically as shapely as the women he had bedded in the past.

"You shouldn’t waste food," Bird lectured.

"Don’t tell me what to do," the man bit back as he returned to his cot.

"I’m not  _telling_ , I’m simply advising. Now I’m without half my dinner and all I get for it is an even grumpier neighbor.”

"I’m not grumpy," he retorted, grumpily.

"Yes you are."

"Shut. Up."

"My name is Bird, by the way. Orri, actually, but everyone just calls me Bird, because… well, an orri… is a type of bird…." As Bird spoke the man curled up on his cot, facing the wall, and Bird’s introduction was met with silence.

The next morning, breakfast arrived. An apple and more stale bread, and a mugfull of water. The guard teased the mage with a pitcher of honey-water, pouring some into a mug and drinking it himself. He then called the mage a “feces pusher” and promptly doused the curled-up man with the rest of the honey-water from the pitcher.

Bird jumped at the slur and subsequent splash, reacting far more defiantly than the mage did, who simply turned to sit up and inspect his honey-infused robe. Bird heard the man say something along the lines of “Nord filth” before he began to remove the clothing, which by the looks of it likely smelled better now than it had previously, if honey masked the scent of sweat, dirt and whatever else was on the robe. 

Bird looked away after accidentally getting an eyeful of the man’s equally bronze and hairless chest. But then, he turned, subtly, back around, peering over his shoulder, glimpsing the side of the man’s buttocks. His thighs were surprisingly solid for a mage. Bird always figured they were even less muscular than he was since they never had to lift a sword or axe, but he realized how wrong he was. He quickly looked away again, unsure about how the grump would feel if he hadn’t.

He wasn’t sure what to do now. The man was nothing to him, none of his business, and nor was his nakedness and sweetened clothing. But he couldn’t help himself. 

"My tunic might fit you," he said, still politely turned away from the mage. "It’s too cold down here to be without clothes."

"My robe will dry," the man replied flatly.

"And attract ants." Bird sighed. "Look, these guards obviously don’t like you for some reas—"

"They hate me," the mage interrupted.

Bird turned around part way, and then fully when he saw that the man had sat down with the robe laid over his waist. “Yeah, I noticed. Look, just take my tunic. It might be long enough to cover,” he wagged a finger in the general direction of the mage’s privates. “I don’t know if those guys will give you any spare clothes. And I can take the cold.” As a Nord, Bird ran warmer than other races, particularly Imperials.

The mage bent forward and planted his face in his palms. He exhaled with a growl, but stood, gripping the robe with one hand tightly to his crotch. With an ostentatious reluctance, the man thrust his hand between the bars and held it there, palm up. He sighed again deeply, and waited.

Bird smiled warmly, not out of any sort of victory, but because he genuinely didn’t want to see the troubled man freeze in this ice cellar of a prison. He pulled his simple cloth tunic over his head, turned it right-side-out, and handed it to the mage. As he did so, the mage’s thumb grazed Bird’s, and he felt a peculiar jolt that made him jump somewhat, unseen by the mage who barely glanced at Bird while accepting his offer. Bird stood there at the bars, thumb still tingling with electricity, watching the man struggle to fit into the tunic, which was certainly long enough to cover his round buttocks, but did so very, very snuggly. 

The mage tossed his robe to the floor of the cell and stood staring at it, fists firmly planted on his hips. After another moment of silence, the mage finally spoke again. “Thanks.”

Bird smirked. “You can thank me by telling me your name.”

Without looking at him, the mage answered. “Marcurio.” He then returned to his cot and continued to stare at his dirty robe before finally looking passed the bars at Bird. “Most people just call me Marc.” 

Bird was utterly surprised, and gladdened, by the mage’s small, appreciative smile.


End file.
